A Warrior's Heart
by sueinnm
Summary: Sif is forced to confront her very mixed feelings for Loki while he is imprisoned and awaiting trial for his crimes during The Avengers. Part 3 in the "Loki's Redemption" series, an alternative storyline to the events in the beginning of Thor: The Dark World.


_**A Warrior's Heart**__**, A story of Asgard**_

Part Three in the**"Loki's Redemption" **series

originally written late 2012/early 2013

_**"Would that I dared**_ ask the All-Father to grant me a boon, so that I might slay the treacherous bastard myself!"

Lady Sif's voice rang through the room she and the Warriors Three favored as their gathering place, the central hearth blazing with its never-ceasing flame as they sat around it, waiting. Waiting for word. Waiting for the end.

"You would have to stand your turn," Volstagg said, for once showing no interest at all I the feast laid out before him. "Verily, I would take a good whack at him myself."

"And I," Hogan muttered grimly, "would hack off his balls and serve them to him roasted in his own juices."

"Stop!" Fandral said, his face draining of color. He groaned and dropped his handsome face into his hands. "Unlike Volstagg, I do not eat enough at one time to last me until Ragnarok. Will you deprive me of my breakfast?"

"You," Sif said, striding across the chamber and back again, "have never had any stomach for the brutal work of death, Fandral. It is all a game and a lark to you."

"And for you it is merely away to prove yourself no weak-limbed maid," Fandral said, shooting to his feet, "when you forget that a lady's charms—"

"Silence!" Volstagg roared, startling the guards at the doorway. "This brangling is to no purpose, my friends." He sighed deeply and slumped on his seat, which groaned wearily in protest. "How I shall ever …" He shook his head. "I have lost my appetite. This day's work will rob every citizen of Asgard the will to indulge even his most treasured vices."

"I have no vices of that kind," Sif said, joining the men, "and I have not lost my appetite for vengeance." She turned and stared into the fire, her hands locked behind her back. "For what that Jotun's spawn has done to Thor, I would … I would …"

No longer able to trust her voice, she fell silent. She could almost feel the men exchanging glances, shaking their heads, pitying her. Not for her rage at Loki, who had betrayed them all and done great ill on Midgard, but because her anger was laced with grief and her desire for retribution fired as much by personal loathing for Thor's brother as the desire to see justice done and order restored.

Personal loathing not for what he had always been, though she had never trusted him, but because he had been responsible for sending Thor into exile. Without _him_, Thor would never have been banished, lost his powers, been "saved" by the mortal Jane Foster.

Aye, she wanted Loki dead … after he suffered mightily. But she despised herself for the weakness of her love, and how it made a mockery of all she had done to win her place as an honored warrior of Asgard.

"Where is he now, do you think?" Fandral asked in a voice meant to be conversational , but which came off as strangely pitiful. "Do you suppose they have cut off all his pretty black hair? Have they kept him gagged? What a relief it would be not to hear his constant whinging and boasting and—"

"You are the one requiring a gag," Sif snapped. "This is no matter for jests." She swung around to face them, spearing each of them in turn with her stare. "What if the All-Father remembers only that Loki was his son and forgets his evils? If Thor speaks on his behalf—"

"He will," Volstagg said with a sigh. "Thor is not like us, Sif. He is forgiving. He is, in fact, quite as mad as his brother."

"Odin will never let him off," Hogan said, raking his hand over his top knot. "Loki betrayed not only the one who saved his life, but all of us."

"Because of him, the Bifrost must be rebuilt at great cost, perhaps more than we can pay in a hundred mortal lifetimes," Volstagg said.

Fandral nodded. "And he's put every maiden in the realm in the foulest possible moo—"

Everyone turned to stare at Fandral, who flushed and ducked his head. Sif thought if he opened his mouth again, she might challenge him. In earnest.

"This will tear Asgard apart," she said softly. "Do you not see, brothers? Thor's heart is already half-broken. More than half. He has lost the woman he …. he loves, and the monster he regards as a brother, all within the course of a few mortal years."

"He can still see Jane Porter with the Tesseract," Fandral said.

Sif gritted her teeth. "If Odin allows it to be used again, Fandral, and I do not believe he will. Even if it were so, do you think that will heal all? Thor will accept no comfort once the All-Father pronounced judgment on Loki. It must be death. Even exile to the darkest world cannot be a fit punishment for his villainy." She looked away, praying the others didn't see her tears. "Odin's son will suffer long after Loki is gone. He will never forgive himself for letting any of this happen."

"Though it was none of his doing," Volstagg said.

"None of anyone's," Hogan said, "but Loki's."

"Then Thor must deal with it as he can," Hogan said. "He will not thank us for our pity."

"And Asgard?" Sif said. "Thor is beloved by everyone. How can our people be satisfied that Loki has suffered enough?"

"Maybe a public judgment," Fandral said, "will be enough to set Asgard to rights again. I hear rumors that it is to be an open trial, and that Odin will seek the counsel of the other gods before he renders his verdict."

"That I will witness gladly," Volstagg said. "I may even bring … what do the mortals call it? … popcorn."

Sif didn't even bother to answer. She broke into another round of fast pacing, wishing a few thousand chitauri might place themselves in her path. "It will never be enough," she said. "Never. Never enough."

The clank of armor and weapons silenced her grim thoughts. Thor was walking through the door, the guards at attention to either side as he passed. His head was down, his steps slow, his shoulders hunched. He looked like a warrior robbed of his last chance of dying in battle.

"Thor?" Fandral said, first to reach his friend. "Where … what has—"

"Come," Volstagg said, laying a meaty hand on Thor's shoulder. "Come sit with us. You need say nothing."

Hogan rose as they approached the couches, inclining his head. Sif trailed behind them, hardly daring to look at Thor's haggard face. His grief struck her to the heart. She would sooner have died now than let him feel even one instant of such pain.

"Would you eat?" Volstagg asked. "Drink, perhaps?"

"You said he need not speak," Fandral said in a loud whisper. Hogan scowled.

"My friends," Thor said, his voice deep and heavy. "I have no thirst for anything but the company of my friends. And silence."

Sif cast Fandral a quelling look and sat on the couch opposite Thor, her back to the fire.

"I fear he's lost to us," Thor said at last, leaning his forehead on his hand. "The darkness has taken him so deep into the shadow, and I do not know …."

"You've done all you can," Volstagg said. "Verily, more than any other would have ventured for such a—"

Fandral kicked Volstagg in the shin. Volstagg grunted and glared at his friend. Thor didn't notice.

Sif noticed everything. The way Thor's fingers shook a little when he moved them. The fall of flaxen hair across his eyes. The turn of his lips. The pain.

"Thor," she said, daring to lean forward and rest her hand on his knee. "Is there nothing we can do?"

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, smiling with sorrow enough to break a heart of stone, and covered her hand with his. "You are here," he said. "That is enough."

_You_, he said, but he meant all of them, Sif thought. Not her alone. Never her alone.

"When is it to be?" Volstagg asked, his rumbling voice like the distant roar of the sea. "The judgment?"

"Loki is with our … with Queen Frigga now," Thor said.

Sif sat bolt upright. "He was permitted to see our queen?" she asked.

"He'll do her no harm," Thor said, running his hand across his eyes. "I asked to stay, but she'd have none of it. And I believe she is right. Loki knows she loved …. loves him. That may be the one thing he has not lost."

"No Jotun is capable of—" Sif began.

Blue eyes, suddenly hard as chips of ice, fixed on hers. "He was raised a prince of Asgard," he said, "and no creature, be he god or man, is shaped only by the nature of his birth. "

"Then you _do_ still think he can be … resurrected," Fandral said, not an ounce of humor in his voice.

"I don't know," Thor said. "If my father permits him to live, he may find his way back. I intend to plead for mercy on his behalf."

"Mercy!" Sif began, and clamped her lips together, despising herself for adding yet again to Thor's suffering. Thor didn't even look at her.

"Do you hate him so much, Lady Sif," he said, "only because of what he did to me? Do you have any pity for the mortals whose deaths he was responsible for?"

"Of … of course I do, my prince," she said. "I saw them … the mortals … your friends …"

"So much unnecessary death," Thor said. He barked a laugh. "Loki knows that once I would have slain thousands upon thousands of Jotuns without a thought."

"But they were truly our enemies, and you are wiser now," Volstagg said, cupping his hand around the back of Thor's neck. "Wisdom worthy of your father. He will know how to act for the good of all of us."

Abruptly Thor rose, throwing off Volstagg's comforting touch. "You will not talk me out of my decision," he said. "If necessary, I will kneel to the All-Father and offer to do any penance, perform any task to give my brother that final chance."

"It may do you no good," Fandral said with unexpected gravity.

"Speak not to me of failure," Thor said, striding to the fire. He stood beside Sif, pretending to warm his hands. "I made my own mistakes before, and you paid for your interference. Let me make my mistakes this time alone."

"Never," Sif said, rising. "You may cast yourself into Hel itself, and we will cast ourselves in after you."

"If we must kneel and beg for that scoundrel's life," Fandral said, "we will do it."

"My poor, aching knees," Volstagg grumbled.

"A waste of time," Hogan said, though very quietly.

"Thor," Sif said. "My prince. Can you not accept what fate has decreed?"

He looked sideways at her, the corner of his lip turning up in a smile that stopped her breath. "When have I ever accepted the decrees of fate, my lady Sif?"

_When indeed?_ Sif thought bitterly. _Your fate was to be with me._

"You did not tell us the time of the hearing," Volstagg said. "We must be prepared."

"Odin has not yet declared a time," Thor said, "but it will be soon. I will hold vigil until then."

"Then we shall hold it with you," Fandral said. "The Warriors Three, and the Lady Sif. Your servants. And your friends."

"Then I shall meet you on the fifth terrace in an hour," Thor said. "Until then, I must think."

He strode from the room. Sif and the others looked after them, mute in the wake of his grief.

"You did him no good with your protests," Volstagg said to Sif, his brows meeting in a single dark line above his eyes.

"Thor is a fool!" she cried. "Loki will destroy him, take Thor down with him and be glad of it!"

"Strange," Fandral said, gazing down at his clasped hands dangling between his knees. "I seem to recall that Loki did love Thor once. Even you must admit that, Sif."

"Love? Of anything but himself?" Sif spat. "And you count yourself clever."

"Not so clever," Fandral said, even more quietly. "If anyone can recognize the varying forms of love, it is I. And Loki loved more than his mother and father and brother."

Sif began to shake her head. "Say no more, Fandral."

He looked up and met her gaze. "I _will_ say it, Sif. Your unreasoning hatred is not only because you believe Loki led Thor to Lady Jane Foster. It is because you know Loki loved you, and you despised him for it. For daring to look at you at all."

A hush fell over the room.

"It is not true," Sif whispered.

"He was too proud to show it," Volstagg muttered. "But even a fool such as I could make it out."

"Then I only despise him the more!" Sif shouted. She drew her sword, ran at the nearest wall and hacked into it with all her strength. The blade bit into the wall and hung there, defying all her bids to remove it. She gave up, panting, and spun to face the others. "He loved me, and yet he would destroy the brother _I_ love?"

Volstagg glanced toward the doorway and waved his hand in a silencing motion. "Would you have Thor hear you?" he whispered in a low bellow.

"I would have all the Realms hear if it would …" She slumped and sank into the nearest chair, her forehead resting against her knees. "If it would only _help_ him."

No one asked what "him" she referred to. She felt more a fool than she would have believed possible. She thought her hatred could not have grown any more powerful.

And it hadn't. Love her? _Loki_? His pale eyes following her movements, never speaking, never giving any indication, knowing she would reject him, hate him for even looking at her. She realized she had never even wondered if he'd taken lovers. Even those who disliked him, and they were many because he was so unlike Thor, would admit he was not uncomely. Many would willingly come to his bed.

Loki knew she would be the last to ever do so.

Her heart had no room for pity. But she could no longer bear the company of her friends, and so she strode out of the room, along the pillared hall and deeper into the palace, making her way past guards no longer posted merely as honorary sentinels and deeper into the bowels of the vast building.

The guards stopped her when she reached the confinement level, where high-ranking lawbreakers were held until trial could be held or judgment pronounced.

"You cannot enter, Lady," one of the guards said with a dip of his head.

"I … I would …" She bit down hard on her lower lip, smothering words she didn't even know how to speak. "Is the queen …. May I request an audience of Her Majesty?"

Two of the guards consulted, and one of them signaled for Sif to wait. She fidgeted, wondering what had possessed her to behave so stupidly. Thor would surely think …

What Thor might think she never decided, for Queen Frigga was walking toward her, head bowed, her hands clasped over her waist as if she had endured a most terrible birthing. She looked up at Sif as she approached, smiled, and held out her hand with that kindness no trouble could shake. Not even the loss of her son.

"My queen," Sif said, bowing deeply as she took Sif's hand. "Thank you for … agreeing to speak with me."

Frigga put her arm about Sif's waist, as much as if she required Sif's support as a gesture of affection to one who had ever been close to her family. Together they ascended past the level containing the servant's quarters and up to the private and public gathering rooms where members of the court took their ease.

But they did not stop there, as Sif expected. They continued to the royal wing and Frigga's magnificent private chambers, hung with elaborate, hand embroidered tapestries of warriors and maidens and dragons and forests overflowing with animals of every type and kind. She sat in her chair, heaped with equally beautiful cushions, and patted the richly padded footstool beside it. Sif took the offered seat.

"Tell me," Frigga said, her voice soft and brave and half-broken.

"My queen," Sif said, pressing her forehead to Sif's beringed hand. "I … I grieve deeply for … for—"

"You need not try to tell me," Frigga said, touching Sif's hair lightly. "I know what you feel, you and all Thor's closest companions. You grieve for his grief."

"And for yours, my queen," Sif said, kissing Sif's hand.

"I know." She tilted Sif's head up. "Is that why you have come to see me?"

No one could endure Frigga's gaze without speaking truth. That was the risk Sif had taken, and now it was too late to retreat.

"They …" she began, her mouth dry as an empty flagon. "They told me that your son … that Loki …"

"That he loved you?"

"Oh, my queen. I am so sorry. I did not know."

"And if you had, it would not have changed anything that has happened," Frigga said, her hand still gentle on Sif's hair. "Loki had choices, and he made them. You could not have chosen for him. You never had the power to alter his path."

"But … but it was surely another reason that he hated Thor."

"He does not hate Thor," Frigga said, her voice growing distant. "He believes he does. His madness tells him so. But even when he attempted to kill his brother, he wished even more to kill himself."

Sif looked up, hardly able to bear the sight of the tears in Frigga's beautiful eyes. "What will happen, my queen? What will happen to Thor …. to you, if the All-Father—"

"We will fight for him, Thor and I," she said, "even if every other citizen of Asgard condemns him. As they rightly should. But we believe there is hope."

"So Thor said to us," Sif said, clasping Frigga's hand. "Not in so many words, but—"

"But it is what he believes, and what I believe. Perhaps it is worse than foolishness. Perhaps it is a kind of evil of its own, to wish—"

"You are incapable of evil, my queen," Sif said fiercely. "As Thor is incapable of anything but nobility, of courage, of—"

"No man is such a paragon," Freya said. "Just as no man, or woman, is all darkness until the last spark of light has been extinguished. In Loki, perhaps one such spark still remains."

"Then I will pray it is so," Sif said. "And I will do whatever I may to keep that spark alive."

Frigga smiled sadly. "My Lady Sif, no one expects such a sacrifice of you. You have already made a great one in remaining Thor's friend and companion in spite of your feelings for him." She shook her head. "No, it is not so obvious, except perhaps to a woman who has been in love. Perhaps someday I will tell you of my own courtship. On a day when it is time to laugh again."

Sif swallowed. "Do you think Loki still … cares for me?"

"I do not know. If I did, I would tell you. That Loki still feels deeply, as he always did, I do know. That he can still love, I know. But the rest …" She pleated her skirt between her fingers and stared sightlessly cross the room. "I love my sons. Both of them. That is _all_ I know."

Sif rose, bowed deeply, and backed from the chamber. She turned and strode out of the royal suite, nearly knocking guards out of her path with the fury of her progress. She got as far as the lowest level, that reserved for the most dangerous prisoners, and attempted to push past the heavily armored sentries. They snatched at her arms with gauntlets of leather and steel, holding her fast.

"You may go no farther," their captain said.

"I have the permission of the queen," Sif said, turning to face them.

"We received no such authorization."

Sif stared into the captain's eyes, half shielded behind the half visor of his helmet. "Then send to her. Ask her yourself, Captain. I am certain she will welcome your intrusion at such an hour."

They locked gazes, a battle of wills that Sif was determined to win. The captain nodded brusquely, and the guards released her.

"You may see and speak to him," the captain said, "but you may not enter the cell."

"My thanks, loyal warrior," she said, smiling. The captain blinked, and then she was striding along the last brief length of the corridor to the cell.

The room itself was like a case made to display some precious object, solid and opaque on three sides and transparent on the one facing the corridor, so that Loki might be observed at all times. Viewers had been placed at many points inside the cell, constantly monitored by technicians elsewhere on the level. Even if he had not worn the damping shackles that all but removed his ability for magic, he could have done nothing without being observed the moment he made the attempt.

There was a single cot in the room, a necessary, and nothing else. At first Sif was not even certain it was Loki she saw, crouched against the wall farthest from the window, his shackles fixed by a short chain to an immovable bolt in the wall. His knees were drawn up, his face shielded from her by his tangled black hair. He had been stripped of every object that might have fed his vanity and normal care for his appearance. He wore only the tunic and trousers of a common servant, no belt with which he might harm himself or others, and his feet were bare.

"Yet another to gawk at the captive Jotunn?" he asked without looking up. There was no soft elegance in his voice now—a beauty which even she, in her despite of him, had acknowledged—but only the harsh croak of one of Odin's ravens.

She felt such an upwelling of pity that she almost—almost—understood how Thor could forgive him. She rid herself of it swiftly.

"If you are quite fin—" Loki looked up, his hair still falling across his face, and swept it back with a hand that had once been graceful. "Why, Lady Sif," he said. He got to his feet, suddenly finding his grace again, and bowed with a smile. It was a cold smile, more than a little mad. "I am deeply honored by your visit. I have not been permitted to gaze upon such beauty since I was assigned these new chambers." He gestured around him, spreading his hands as far as he could pull them apart. "I fear these accommodations are not quite fit for a lady of your quality, or I would invite you in."

_And they think he loved me?_ Sif thought incredulously. This man—this Jotun—with his face so lined, his once-brilliant eyes so hollow. And so mad.

But she saw now how much he had changed. Before he had learned he was Jotun, he had still been devious, a trickster, jealous of his brother. But he had also been capable of courtliness, pleasant badinage, thoughtful reflection, devotion to Frigga, and acts of great loyalty … even generosity, though she had doubted, in the latter case, that he meant it for anything but show. He had always been an enigma.

Now he was merely dark. Dark all the way through.

"I do not think anyone can reach you," she said aloud. "The walls you have built around yourself are too impregnable."

"Ah." He stood, now, as if he were still a prince in his fine wool and leather and gold, striding confidently among the halls of the palace with his long coats sweeping behind him as if he had not a jealous or devious bone in his body. "If I had built these walls," he said, " I assure you that I would have had much better taste in decoration. They are a little …" He looked around again, shaking his head. "Austere."

He deliberately misunderstood her, but that was hardly a surprise. "I made a mistake in coming here," she said, turning on her heel.

"Then why did you?" he asked. "Merely to indulge your pleasure at your victory?"

It seemed a genuine question, in spite of his mockery. And she didn't know how to answer him.

"_My_ victory?" she asked, facing him again. "I had nothing to do with your capture or imprisonment, would that I had."

"Your victory in being rid of what you feared was an impediment to your infatuation with Odin's son," he said, still with that slight, provoking smile.

"I have no such … infatuation," Sif said, stumbling over the word.

Loki looked like a cat who had found a whole cask full of cream. "Anyone Thor loved or cared for was an impediment." His smile faded into an expression much more sinister. "Did you think I have not heard you say that I have always been jealous of my … former brother? Perhaps you were so sensitive on the subject because you understand it so well."

She stepped forward and slammed her fist on the transparent wall. Loki didn't so much as blink. She looked her up and down as if she were something the great hound Garm had dragged in.

"You would very much enjoy challenging me now, would you now?" Loki asked, without a trace of malice in his voice.

"You would win," she said. "You have magic, deceit, treachery, Jotun strength …"

"And if I gave up all these things?" he asked. "Would you challenge me then?"

His question made no sense to her at all. "To what purpose?"

"To see me at your feet with your sword at my throat, of course."

"If you could ever be trusted in a fair fight, I would give my life for it."

"And if I were to win, in a fair fight?"

Sif jerked up her chin. "You have no great skill with a sword."

"It would be my chance to take. A gamble. I do like a good wager."

"And what would be the prize?"

She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but Loki said nothing. He actually looked away, his lips set in a straight, grim line.

"No prize," he said. "It is only a fancy, after all." He looked back, his smile in place again. "Have you had your satisfaction, Lady Sif? If you have no other business with me, I am rather in need of a nap." He turned his back on her. "I shall want to be at my best when I go in search of my own kingdom."

It seemed impossible, and yet Sif detected in his voice a sincerity she had not believed him capable of. He was unutterably weary, robbed of his pride, defeated. And he knew it. He spoke boldly, as if he expected it was only a matter of time before his cleverness found a path to escape. But he had never been a stupid man, whatever his faults. In his heart, his wicked heart, he knew he had no chance. No chance at all.

"You asked me why I came," she said suddenly. "It was for Thor's sake, because he seems to believe … he seems to think there is yet some hope for you."

"Hope?" he said, facing the rear wall. "Worse than mere sentiment. It is only the self-delusion of those who cannot face the truth of their failures."

He had spoken the truth. Aloud, and to _her_.

"I am … sorry for you," she said, realizing with shock that she meant it. "I am more sorry for Thor, for his suffering, but I pity—"

He spun around and flung himself at the transparent wall. His chains prevented him from reaching it, but she jumped back nonetheless, startled and horrified by the savagery in his face, the wild-beast violence of a starving predator.

And then that face changed yet again, turning cold, a blue the color of the darkest winter, engraved with lines and ridges. His pale eyes turned crimson, glowing from within.

"Pity yourself," he snarled. "For you will never have what you long for."

They stared at each other. Sif refused to move, to look away. In the end, Loki broke the contact, his lip curling with contempt, dismissing her with a gesture that pushed her behind him like so much rubbish. His flesh returned to its normal color, but she had already seen too much.

To her shame, she ran. She pounded along the corridor, remembering to slow and compose herself only as she came within view of the guards. They were too disciplined to react to her rapid breathing or flushed skin. She strode past them to the next set of stairs, and ran straight into Thor.

He caught her arms, and for a moment they were almost embracing. Not like comrades, but lovers. Sif stepped back, nearly stumbling. Thor caught her. He looked over her shoulder the way she had come.

"I was speaking to your mother," she said. "To offer my … my deepest condolences."

"Loki is not yet dead," Thor said, anger flaring in his eyes. The anger lasted but a moment, replaced by puzzlement.

"That is not the way to my mother's chambers," he said. "You have been to see Loki."

The flush returned, and she wished someone would put a knife to her throat and slit it. "I wished to see for myself … what you saw in him."

"And what did you see?" he said, in all seriousness, as if her opinion were of great import to him.

"I do not know," she admitted. "One moment he seemed his old self, and the next …"

"A madman," he said, his gaze fixed on something she couldn't see.

"A madman who …." She lowered her gaze. "A madman who still cares deeply for his brother."

He gripped her shoulders. "What did he tell you?"

"It is not what he said," she said, looking up again. "It was in his eyes when he spoke of you. In his face when he was … when it was once was."

Thor closed his eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"You must know," she said, before she lost her courage again, "that any of us would die to save him for you."

He opened his eyes again. "What is it?" he asked. "You want something of me. Speak, my friend."

"Did you know?" she demanded. "Did you know that Loki loved me?"

At any other time she would have expected a bellow of laughter, but Thor only gazed at her in confusion. "Loki?" he said. Abruptly he dropped his hands, swung around and looked wildly to the right and left, seeking a foe to fight as she had done not so long before.

"Then it is true?" Sif whispered.

"He never told me," Thor said in a stricken voice. "But now that I look back, I see …" He sighed heavily. "He would never admit so much to me, his own brother, for fear of my mockery."

"Or to me," Sif said, "for the same."

Thor sank down to the steps, and Sif sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder. As companion, and as friend.

"It's true," Thor said. "I never knew him. But he knew me. He knew me so well that he understood I wasn't fit to rule Asgard."

"And then he went too far," Sif said. "He forgot the good of Asgard did not always match his desires."

Thor took her hand, half as large as his own, and rubbed the back of her fingers. "You knew me, too, and never judged me for my arrogance and stupidity."

"Because your goodness was apparent to everyone who knew you," she said. "It shines even more brightly now."

"How did I come to deserve such friends?" he said, smiling his heartrending smile.

"You deserve everything, my prince," she said, staring down at their joined hands.

"Thank you." He embraced her, and every nerve in her body screamed. Take him. Hold him. Tell him.

But she was silent, and when he let her go, she rose and smiled.

"On the fifth Terrace," she said, and turned to leave.

"You will speak for him, Sif?" Thor asked, rising to stand behind her.

"I will," she said, hiding her tears. "And gladly."

She ran all the way to her chambers, pulled out her second favorite sword, and cut her bed to ribbons.


End file.
